A Tale of Death - The 13th Hunger Games (SYOT)
by Riddle9
Summary: Once upon a time, in a far away land named Panem, twenty-four young children were chosen to fight to the death. However, for the 13th Games, things changed. The SYOT is OPEN
1. Prologue - Part 1

_**Prologue**_

_**Tammy Fergason **_

_**President of Panem**_

Furiously glaring at the sheet of paper in her hands, young Tammy Fergason didn't immediately realize a man had entered the room. As a matter-of-fact, she didn't notice him until his high-pitched voice broke the silence. "President Fergason?"

The thirty-five year-old woman jumped in her seat, nearly falling off of it. "Jesus Christ, Leonard, haven't you ever heard of knocking?!"

The man looked at the door behind him. "I did, miss, but you didn't answer."

She paused for a moment, unsure of what to say next. "Well, knock harder."

Leonard chuckled. "Will do, President Fergason."

Tammy sighed. "_President Fergason _is my dad, Leo. I'm just the replacement until he decides who's the successor."

He nodded, smiling kindly. "Until then, you are."

"Two months ago, I would have been ecstatic to hear that, but now I'm pretty sure that this desk is going to go flying through the nearest window soon." She complained, groaning.

His chuckle turned into a full-grown laughter. "I'd pay to see that."

She joined in, enjoying the little distraction to get her mind off the whole 'Presidential work'. After a few minutes of simply talking with her childhood friend, Tammy gave in to her obligations.

"Leo, why are you here?" She wondered, returning to what she had been doing before he disturbed her. "Not just to say _'Hello'_, right_?_

Somehow, he seemed surprised. "You haven't forgotten the Games, _right_?"

She nearly fell off her chair again. "What?!"

"I'm the Head Game-maker this year again, I came here to ask if you had any... Suggestions."

Glaring at the ceiling, she growled before pointing to all the documents scattered on her desk. "I don't have time for this, Leonard. None at all. In fact, I couldn't even care less about these bloody Games. Rebels attacked a factory in District 5 a week ago, remember? Didn't you notice the electricity problems we've been having lately?"

He took a step back at her outburst. "I know, and I'm sorry, but you really need to look at these papers. You need to fill and sign them for me to continue my work."

She sighed. "What if I give you a green flag?"

He blinked at her.

"You have the permissions to do whatever you think is right for these Hunger Games." She explained, nodding. "Just... Keep the people happy. I don't believe they need other disasters in the future.

He seemed taken aback, but eventually agreed. "Alright, then. But one more question before I leave. Do you have a preference for this year's theme?"

She thought for a moment, before smiling a very toothy grin. "Fairy Tales."

**Author's note: So, are you ready to get this SYOT started? Don't be afraid to send me your tribute, I don't bite. Naturally, you can send me mutliple tributes, but no more than two, please. **

**You'll find the tribute form on my profile! **

**May the odds be ever in your favor!**


	2. Prologue - Part 2

_**District One**_

_**Avery Jenkins, Victor of the 7th Hunger Games**_

What to wear?

Avery sighed. It didn't really matter, in the end. No matter the design she'd choose, her two tributes would still die. No matter how well she looked, no matter how hard she worked to get the sponsors to like her, her two kids would still die.

She didn't understand how they couldn't win. Most of her tributes were well fed, weren't scrawny or ill and could stand their ground in fights. With her good advice and the help of all the sponsors, they should be able to win.

At least one of them.

But none did.

Some died because of their carelessness, some died of dihydration or starvation, but most died because of their feelings.

Fear. Anger. Love. Guilt.

Guilt.

She never felt guilty of what she did in her games. Sure, she could understand why they would feel angry or afraid, but guilty?

Why would she feel guilty for surviving? It's not like she'd had the choice. None of them had the choice.

So they died. All ten of them.

None of them came back.

But she still _had _to try to bring them back.

How was she supposed to start her own life if she couldn't save another?

Sighing once more, she chose the prettiest dress she owned.

The red one.

_**District Two**_

_**Adeline Stahl, Victor of the 9th Hunger Games**_

She threw her pillow at _him _the best she could.

Trevor caught it middair, rolling her eyes at her childishness. He took a step towards her, but just like he expected, she took one large step back. "Leave me alone!"

He threw the pillow on the ground, gritting his teeth. "Do you think I want to go?!" The twenty-three year old man yelled, utterly annoyed by her behaviour.

Adeline knew that he didn't. She knew that just like her, he didn't want to leave the safety of the District. That he'd rather become a respectfull Peacekeeper than a mentor. That he'd rather stay home alone than have to work with her.

"Then go! You don't need me! You said it yourself, I'm useless!" The girl yelled, hiding her face in her hands, trying to hide herself from the unavoidable.

Trevor sighed, passing a nervous hand through his hair. "Adeline... Yes, you don't really do anything in the whole mentoring thing, but you don't have a choice here." He explained, trying to make himself clear. "The sponsors love you and I need that to help the tributes. All you need to do is to be there and look good, and maybe I'll be able to bring back another tribute. And that would mean that we won't have to see eachother again."

He was exagerating, but he didn't care. Trevor knew that she didn't like him. In fact, he was pretty sure that she hated him but that wasn't going to stop him. He needed her with him in the Capitol and he would say anything to get her to go. "Come on! One more time, Adeline, only one. Then you won't ever have to come with me again."

Somehow, that's not what she wanted.

_**District Three **_

_**Melody 'Melly' Peterson, Victor of the 10th Hunger Games**_

"Really?"

Melly started to giggle, looking kindly down at the few kids in front of her. "And then what?"

The oldest one, Toby, pointed at the youngest. "Then Malcom started crying like a little baby!"

She laughed again, but after noticing the angered Malcom, tried to muffle her laughter with her left hand. She extended her other hand to put it on the eight-year-old's shoulder. "Don't worry, little man, even the best of us cry."

That made another kid react. "That's not true. You don't cry, Melly."

Melody glanced at the little girl - who must have been around thirteen - and briefly looked at her eyes.

Blue.

Bright blue.

Just like Jordan's, her district partner, before he'd clawed them out of their sockets. Right before his body was cut clean in half, right in front of her.

She hadn't cried back then. She hadn't panicked.

Melody had won.

"No, I suppose not."

_**District Four**_

_**Rider Smythe, Victor of the 12th Hunger Games**_

He was alone.

The thirteen-year-old boy quietly slipped inside his new Reaping clothes his escort, Titus, had chosen for him.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror, Rider realized that his shirt was blue. The same blue that he wore to his interview, nearly a year ago, when he was District Four's male tribute.

But now, Rider was District Four's first Victor.

In fact, he even was Panem's youngest Victor.

But not that it mattered.

His mother had left him. His sisters had left him. His friends had left him.

He was alone.

Would it have been better if he hadn't won his games? If he had died like the other twenty-three children?

Rider didn't know. Nor would he ever know.

He looked away from the mirror guiltily when Titus walked inside the room.

"Are you ready, young man? The Reaping is starting in few minutes!" The Capitolite exclaimed excitedly, making annoying flapping movements with his arms.

It ticked the boy off how much the man enjoyed the Games, but he didn't show it.

He didn't want to loose the only friend he had.

_**District Six**_

_**Blake Stas, Victor of the 5th Hunger Games**_

Blake threw another punch at the wall.

"Why. Does. This. Always. Happen." He screamed, ponctuating each word with a powerfull hit.

So powerfull it would break every bone in his battered hand.

If he had any left.

"Why? Why? Why? Why?" He repeated through gritted teeth, glaring at his mechanical hands.

He couldn't feel his hands - if he could call them that - anymore. They looked like the ones he'd lost, but they didn't feel like them. He couldn't feel the pain.

But that's what he needed.

Blake wanted to feel the pain.

He wanted to feel something else than guilt.

"Are you finnished?" A feminine voice asked from behind him.

He sighed angrily. "No, I'm not. I'll never be finished. Do you know why? Because I can't bring anyone back!"

He knew he shouldn't yell at his younger sister, but he couldn't help it. He was angry. Angry at the Games, angry at the Reaping, angry at the world but more importantly: angry at himself.

"Blake, you're not the only one! Look at Lorelai, she's hasn't managed to bring a tribute home either." Gemma pointed out, trying to reason with him. What he was doing wasn't helping anybody.

He ignored her. "It's been eight years, Gemma, eight years."

"I know, honey, I know." She whispered.

A small tear fell down his cheek. "I don't want to be alone anymore."

She hugged him. "You'll never be alone again."

After eight long and painfull years, he still couldn't believe those words.

He would always be alone.

_**District Seven **_

_**Caine Bellamy, Victor of the 11th Hunger Games**_

"It was their fault."

Caine's escort Titania looked up from her freshly polished fingernails. "I'm sorry?"

The boy smiled. "I said it was their fault."

The scarlet-haired woman frowned, not understanding what he meant. "What? Why? Who?"

He tried to hide his chuckle. "Blair and Tommy for dying last year."

That made her eyes go wide. "Last year's tribu-"

"Yes, them. They had it coming. I mean, look at the Victor. He's twelve, for crying out loud!" The playfullness had completely left his voice. "He shouldn't have survived."

"He's fourteen now, actually." She said, smiling nervously.

Caine sighed. "Like it matters. Anyway, I hope this year's tributes will have something I can work with. Maybe even a volunteer."

Titania's smile grew at that. "Yes, that would be great, indeed! I can still remember the day you volunteered, Caine. Such a nice feeling."

The boy nodded earnestly, rising his head with pride. "I second that. It felt so... Exhilarating. I don't understand why others don't do the same."

Or why no one had done it before he did.

_**District Eight**_

_**Lorelai Matheson, Victor of the 1st Hunger Games**_

She felt sad.

"Can't I do someting?" She asked, cocking her head to the side, an undeniable lump in her throat.

The old man shook his head, still unable to speak.

Lorelai didn't want to take no for an answer. "Are you sure? Maybe I could help to pay for the funer-"

"No." He spat, looking her dead in the eyes. "You've done enough."

She hadn't done anything.

It wasn't her fault his grand-child, a boy named Jasper Howens, had decided to take his life this morning. It wasn't her fault that the twelve-year-old had been too scared to face the Reaping.

It wasn't her fault that the boy had left a letter saying that he wouldn't be able to win anyway.

Lorelai knew the family. Everyone did. They were one of the poorest and yet largest families in the district. She knew that most of the kids had to take lots of tesserae to survive, therefor increasing their chances of getting reaped.

How she knew?

She'd had Ace Howens, Clara Howens and Nikolias Howens to bring back home.

None of them made it.

That was probably the reason little Jasper had been too scared. After eleven years, no Howens - or any other, for that matter - had made it back home.

Maybe the old man was right.

It was her fault.

_**District Nine**_

_**Freida Nate, Victor of the 3rd Hunger Games**_

"Shut up."

Kenji laughed, taking a few steps back, excpecting a slap. "Oh, come on! That's pretty impressive, you know?"

She didn't think so. "No, it's not. Look at Trevor, he did it too."

"Yeah, 'cause that turned out well." The boy pointed out, smiling even more. "They don't stand each other. And even if Trevor got Adeline home, you were the very first to do it. Even though you won't admit it, you're happy I came back."

Of course she was. Who wouldn't be?

She'd only had to mentor alone for three years until Kenji came along. So naturally, she was happy. But that didn't mean he could throw that in the face of the other Victors who still hadn't managed to bring back someone. Even imaginating Blake's expression when his tributes died was too painfull to bear. "That doesn't matter, just shut up about it, would you?"

Kenji's smile dropped. "You're thinking of Blake, aren't you?"

She cracked a smile. "Are you in my head or something?"

"How do you think I won my Games, Freid?" He asked, winking at her. "But don't worry, I won't shove it in his face."

She sighed. "He's losing it, you know? He said that he never wanted to come back last year."

"I know, I'm the one who convinced him to keep on living."

Freida gasped. "You mean he...?"

"Yeah, right after both his tributes died in the Bloodbath. Tried to jump off the building." Kenji explained, looking at the ground.

Her left hand flew to her mouth. "Thank god you were there."

Kenji smiled. "That's what friends are for."

Freida was happy she wasn't alone.

_**District Eleven**_

_**Gill Simmons, Victor of the 2nd Hunger Games**_

He hadn't excpected his day to start so well.

"Daddy, daddy! Hurry up or you'll be late for work!" His nine-year-old daughter Davina yelled, repeatedly hitting him on the chest.

Gill kept his eyes closed, not ready to get up just yet.

Getting up would mean that he'd have to face his escorts, the Reaping and more importandly, the new tributes.

"Daddy, if you don't stand up right now, I'll call mom." Davina threatened, pointing her index finger at him in a scolding manner.

But first, he'll have to face his wife.

He chuckled. "I'm up, sweetheart, I'm up."

Gill threw his warm and comfy covers off of him, taking his time.

That wasn't good enough for little Davina. "Hurry up! The faster you're gone, the faster you'll come back."

That struck a nerve inside Gill's body.

He would come back, but at least one of the two tribute he'd meet today wouldn't.

He felt guilty for not feeling guilty about it.

He went through what they all went through. The only difference was that he survived and they didn't.

He wasn't going to feel guilty for that.

_**District Twelve**_

_**Morgan Luce, Victor of the 8th Hunger Games**_

He hadn't expected his day to start so bad.

Morgan watched as the technicians and the Peacekeepers set up the cameras and barriers in front of the Justice Building. He put both his elbows on his knees, enjoying the peacefull moment he had left. That lovely moment was short lived, however.

"Aren't you going to go back to your house?" Asked one of the Peacekeepers who was setting up the microphone. "The Reaping doens't start for another three hours."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "You're new 'round here?"

The man frowned, but nodded.

"That explains it." The Victor muttered, leaning back in his chair.

Another Peacekeeper came to his colleague's rescue. "Dave, he doesn't live here anymore."

The frown on _Dave _deepened. "What?" He whispered back, but was looking right at the long haired boy.

Morgan sighed. "Listen up, newbie. I will only say it once. I hate this place. I'm only here when I have to. So, yeah. I'm here once a year."

He hated the people. He hated his old house. He hated his new house. He hated every single thing about this place.

The people kept calling him a monster for the things he had done during his games, and yet came to him in the Victor's village when they were starving. The orphanage hadn't wanted him back and yet wanted him to help them pay for their taxes. But most of all, he hated being alone.

In the Capitol, he never was. There was always someone to talk to. There was always a fellow Victor to hang out with. People didn't insult him then asked him for help. Actually, people praised him and asked him if he wanted something.

Everything was better in the Capitol.

He hated District Twelve.

The man seemed taken aback, but didn't say anything and went back to work.

"Don't take me wrong, though. As much as I hate this place, I don't hate the kids. I want them to come back." Morgan added, passing his hand through his hair.

He didn't know why he'd felt the urge to say that, but it was true.

Maybe - just maybe - with another Victor for District Twelve, he wouldn't feel so lonely anymore.

He took a look at the clock and sighed.

There were really three long hours left.


End file.
